


As We Travel Through Snow

by Eccentric_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent John Winchester, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Nightmares, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26683018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eccentric_Grace/pseuds/Eccentric_Grace
Summary: Castiel wonders why Dean never sleeps with a blanket while on the road, and instead learns why he crawled out of his grave so quickly a year before.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 187





	As We Travel Through Snow

There are a lot of human things that Castiel has grown to understand.

He grows to understand why humans are picky with the nutrients they consume. (Dean told him, as he pushed away vegetables on his plate and stuffed his face with more of his burger, that it was because some foods were not as good as others, and that ‘good’ can mean more than healthy.)

He grows to understand why humans care oh-so much about the way that their hair is styled. (Sam explained to him while he was brushing his lengthening hair that it was because it makes someone confident, and confident is nice.)

Castiel does not understand, however, why the love of his life refuses to sleep with a blanket while they are on the road.

It seems like such an odd quirk, to not warm yourself up while it’s freezing cold. Castiel doesn’t necessarily mind either temperature, but he knows from observation that people usually sleep with blankets to permit themselves from suffering such an annoying fate.

But, while the snow grows thick over the air, Dean is shivering in the driver’s seat of the impala. He does not have a blanket, despite there being a supply of heavy wool ones in the backseat for this intended purpose. Instead, he wears nothing over him but his clothes and leather jacket.

(Sam was not around. They had endured another one their “boy band breakups” as Cas’s new friend Bobby had put it, and had not been speaking to each other for the past two days, so far. Castiel chose to follow Dean around instead, because he can’t seem to find the heart to leave him alone. This was another thing that Castiel did not understand. But that is not the current point of discussion.)

If Castiel knew any less, he would say that Dean simply didn’t mean to fall asleep. This was just simply not true, though.

An hour before, Dean had pulled over to the side of the road and simply said “I’m going to sleep.” 

This was a good idea; he had been driving with no breaks for over twenty four hours. With this particular detail, as paired with previous evidence, Castiel is starting to think that Dean liked to drive when under a great amount of stress.

So, yes. Dean was asleep with a jacket. He meant to be asleep this way.

Castiel did not bother him, instead choosing to sit very still and very quiet as to not bother him and his rest. But he was curious, of course, as to why Dean didn’t even make a poor attempt to reach the easily accessible blankets.

He pondered this for another silent hour, until there was disruption of a different sort coming from the front of the car.

A whimper. 

Yes, that is what it was. It was a whimper, which with no doubt belonged to the blond haired man in the front seat. A whimper that sounded much like a mewl; a weak and desperate cry from a man that was barely a man, and that was much closer to a boy.

Castiel frowns, his eyes set in a deep practiced confusion at this new variable. Dean was not awake, this was a fact. Why was he making noises, especially in the uncharacteristic variety of weakness, in his sleep?

“Please...”

Another desperate cry. Dean moves in his seat, and his chest rises and falls in a panicked way, as if it was not getting air and getting too much air at the same time. His hands grip the side of the seat tightly.

“Please what?” Castiel responds, his face still drawn in a strained confusion. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean gasps, and it sounds akin to someone gasping through a choke hold. This is what causes Cas to finally move, teleporting into the passenger seat to see the cause of such great concern. 

He was still asleep. His eyes were forced shut, and his eyebrows were drawn with stress. “Dad, please—Le’mme out...”

Castiel knew all there was to know about John Winchester, but to think he could cause such alarm and disquietude in what is supposed to be fulfilling rest for his partner makes his blood boil to a dangerous heat.

Dean struggles against the air for a moment and then his eyes flash open, awaking with another shaky gasp. His gaze is everywhere, traveling quickly around his surroundings until they finally meet Cas.

“What happened?” He asks in his natural gravel tone. “Why were you scared?”

“It was a nightmare.” Dean grits the explanation out. His eyes are still wider than normal, which Castiel chalks up to him not being completely in the present yet.

Dean sits up in the seat, adjusting his coat.

“A nightmare?” Castiel asks. “What was yours about, that it could cause such terror?”

Dean gives him a side-glance, which usually means that Castiel should not have asked that question, and that the topic should be moved on quickly with a rough grace. But this time, he sighs and looks back in front of him.

This is where Castiel learns to understand a new human trait; one that has specifically and exclusively Dean Winchester written on it’s packaging.

“My dad buried me alive once,” Dean says. It is not said in any particular way, because it is such an unusual yet important phrase that the only thing that matters is that it was said at all. “Said it would help me in the future, if it ever happened for real.”

Castiel makes no move. He does not speak. He only watches Dean with a carefully trained eye, and listens.

“He put me in a spare coffin and buried me under. Told me I had to dig my way out quick, or I was good as dead.” He sighs heavily, and it quivers in the air. “It was cold. And suffocating. And dark.”

Dean finally looks up from the steering wheel, and looks at Cas with an expression that could not be discerned. It brushes away quickly, like one of the snowflakes melting on the windshield. 

“It did help me in the long haul though, I guess. I would’ve died all over again last year if I hadn’t listened to him.” Dean says this with a joking tone, supposedly fed up with the ‘chick-flick moment’ as he calls it. “Then you would’ve had to pull me out again.”

Castiel does not laugh. His heart is as cold as the white powder blanketing the outside earth.

“Is this why you don’t sleep with a blanket on?” He asks instead. “It reminds you of... the cold, the suffocating... coffin?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess. Yeah. Whatever, though. It’s fine, Cas. Don’t worry about it. That son of a bitch is dead now anyways, isn’t he? You don’t need to get your revenge or whatever you’re planning in those eyes of yours.”

“These eyes are not mine,” Cas replies simply.

Dean stares at him for a long moment before snorting. He starts the car, letting it thrum back to life. “Sure. Buckle up, sweetheart. Time to hit the road again.”

Before Dean can put his seatbelt back on, Castiel puts his hand gently on Dean’s arm. (It’s an interesting gesture, as it mirrors the hand print on his other arm frighteningly well, but the context between both actions are so overwhelmingly different that it makes Cas’s head spin.)

“I’m sorry.” That is what Castiel says to him, his deep voice carrying such genuineness and love in a way that seemed too soft for the hardness of his features. “I’m sorry I could not protect you then.”

Dean looks as though he hasn’t a clue how to respond to such a heartfelt declaration, so he stares with wide eyes for a few seconds too long and then pats Cas on the back. “Don’t worry about it. You had other duties, didn’t you? Hell, you still do.”

Castiel knows this is true.

But as he stares back into eyes that are the same shade of green as the earth he fell in love with, and not finding anything else more important than Dean, he understands even more about what it means to be human.

Dean looks back at Castiel’s hand. “Alright. Dude. Personal space.”

His hand lifts after a moment longer. “Of course. Should I return to the backseat?”

It takes a second of nothing before Dean shakes his head. He pulls the seatbelt over himself, this time with no interruption. “Nah. You’re just fine, Cas. Just fine.”

They drive off listening to nothing but the engine of the impala. Castiel counts as many snowflakes as he can in the dark dusk of the state they’re temporarily traveling through.

They’re okay.

Dean is okay.

Castiel will promise this until his dying breath. And that, is a promise only a human could make, which he learned from his lover one quiet night driving through the snow.


End file.
